The Choice
by Rabirhek
Summary: Tag to 3x08, 'As You Were'. In all his life as a conman, Neal's conscience has never bothered him quite this much. Two-part character study.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own _White Collar_, the premise or the characters of the show. No copyright infringement is intended._

**_Notes: _**_This takes place at the end of 3x08, As You Were, while we leave Neal sitting at the edge of the bed in the Burke's house. No warnings._

_**Author's Commentary:** After having written _Criminal Minds_ fanfiction for two years, switching to _White Collar_ has been a challenge. Neal is much more of a character than, say, Reid is, because somehow I think I might run into a Reid on campus one day, but not into Neal (and I'd very much prefer running into Reid than Neal). In this fandom I feel that I am really 'using' the characters rather than giving them voice as I feel like I do in CM fandom. I only hope that characterization hasn't come off as a result. Second part of this features a conversation between Neal and June, which hopefully will be up soon as well._

_Finally, the formatting is a deliberate choice. I hope the italics don't bother you; it only seemed fitting to format this chapter this way. Happy reading._

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><p><em>Sometimes, Neal wants to believe that his choices don't have to be definitive. That he would always have a chance to make another choice; that choices are like cons, there's no final decision, there's only the next one. Sometimes, he wants to believe he doesn't have to choose, that he can have it all. But then, just the other evening, Jones has put into words what Neal knew all along, but has never acknowledged before. That a choice is always a sacrifice. That in real life, no, you simply can't have it all.<em>

_All these years, Neal's believed that he could._

_He operates on the idea of 'having it all'. A good life, friends and family, doing something meaningful. Somehow, he dreams of a life in which he'll be completely satisfied with everything he has, so deeply content that he won't be tempted to look for things he doesn't have. He doesn't realize that the definition of what he wants is proof that there's no such thing as having it all. It's an inherent contradiction._

_And at this particular moment, it feels like everything is disintegrating._

_In Neal's mind, Peter's friendly words clash against Mozzie's disappointed silence. The hand which holds the cell phone is shaking; his fingers tighten around the device in an attempt to still the tremor. He straightens at the edge of the bed –of Peter and Elizabeth's bed- with a sigh, and his gaze falls on Satchmo's accusing look._

_For some reason, Neal can't face the dog. He can't look at Satchmo, because he has broken his trust, just like he's broken Peter's, and Elizabeth's, and damn it, just like he's broken Mozzie's trust._

_Guilt settles in his chest like piles of sand, guilt and shame like water and cement, and he rises to his feet, swallowing sharply as he does. Shards of dim light swarm on the deep blue walls; muffled noises of the traffic outside provide a monotone background, and for a second, Neal feels submerged. Everything feels as though fallen back into slow motion, the echoes of his life fading into __garbled__ nonsense. Deep pressure in his ears, in his head, in his heart, and for that one fleeting moment as he stands by the bed in the blue-walled room, he feels like he's drowning._

_Shaking himself off from the feeling, Neal grabs the art manifest and shoves it into the safe without looking at it. He carefully keeps his gaze away from the photograph, the one of the entire White Collar division. He shuts the safe close, arranges everything back to how it was, pockets his cell phone, and turns to walk out._

"_I'm sorry, Satchmo," he whispers quickly, patting the dog's head without turning his eyes down. "You won't tell anyone about this, right?" He swallows. "I'm sorry, buddy."_

_Surely he's just imagining that Satchmo didn't enjoy being petted as he normally does._

_Sliding out of the room, Neal paddles down the stairs with the ease of a cat-burglar and swiftly sees himself out of the house. The crisp night air is like a welcoming friend; he fills his lungs with a deep breath and it feels ridiculously right to be outside of the house. For a man who's supposed to belong to the other side of the law, Neal surely has a ridiculously righteous inner compass._

_Five minutes later, he's sitting at the backseat of a cab on his way home –on his way to June's- and it is all he can do to keep the nausea down. _

/

_That night, sleep doesn't come._

_Lying flat on his back, Neal feels every bump on the pillow, every tiny crease of the sheets. Embedded at the base of his neck are the roots of a giant headache, pulsing as though it has a life of its own, sending crashing waves of pain through his brain. The nausea is manageable unless he moves; trying not to disturb it, Neal slowly pushes the covers aside when it gets too hot._

_It is ironic that in all his life as a conman, his conscience has never bothered him quite this much._

_Finally having enough of lying there and waiting for sleep that won't come, he carefully sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed and slides his feet into the warm slippers. A hand reaches towards his fragile stomach, pressing it as though to keep it calm, he stands up, p__addles__ through the room in the darkness and walks to the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of milk. Then, he walks out to the balcony._

_The cool night breeze rushes to clear the fog of exhaustion from his mind. He isn't really happy to think clearly, but it's better than the alternative._

_It has been a hell of a week._

_He's been on the edge of the knife for months now, ever since Mozzie has let him in on the Nazi treasure. But then, there had been time to 'make their exit right'. Deep down, Neal knows there is no such thing; in the end, if he-_ when_ he retires to the Islands with Mozzie, he will have hurt everyone, and no kind of apology will make it okay. Neal fears it, fears the prospect of setting fire on what he has built. It feels like he is the one who will be burnt the worst._

_With a sigh, he rests his arms on the railing. The street below is quiet; the black, naked arms of an oak tree reach towards the sky as though pleading to the heavens. The cold light of the street lamp just below gives it a dramatic glow. _

_Neal can't help but chuckle at the scene. _

_Everything around him is décor. He's living on stage; his life, one big con._

_Sometimes, he wonders if he'll ever drop the act._

_He knows who he is. The way he lives is his reality; there is no alternate universe where Neal Caffrey is an open, honest man. But he also knows that he has changed, that Peter has changed him. He can change for the better, he still has a choice._

_The damn choice._

_Neal isn't naïve, but still, sometimes, he finds himself wishing._


	2. Chapter 2

At some point in the stillness of the night, soft footsteps cause Neal to turn and stare. It is June who emerges from the darkness floating about the balcony; she halts at her step and her hands rise up in apology when she notices him.

"Oh, I am sorry, dear," she says, "I was looking for my reading glasses; I must have left them here after tea."

With a smile, Neal reaches for the pair of glasses left next to a book on the breakfast table, and hands them to June.

"Here they are."

"Thank you," June says. She doesn't immediately bid him goodnight, lingering there for a few seconds instead, but Neal doesn't take the opportunity to ask why she's awake at this late hour. In the faint light of a nightstand seeping out through the glass door, June's silhouette is barely visible. The wave of her hair is merely an artistic curve, the dim gleam in her eyes and the twinkle of her wedding ring the only real indicators of her existence. To Neal, she looks perfect. From her silent and timely entrance to the balcony to the way she stands right at the edge of where the light falls, the way the darkness drapes over her like a mysterious cloak, she fits the scene perfectly.

With June there, Neal doesn't feel quite so alone on stage.

"Is everything alright?" June questions, the frown almost audible in her voice. Neal lets out a breath, a soundless chuckle wrecking his shoulders. He has billions of dollars of stolen artwork stored in a warehouse. Sara has left him because of it, and in a matter of just one hour, he has broken into Peter and Elizabeth's house and lied to Mozzie about the art manifest. He's knee-deep into this mess, and as of today, he is all alone in it.

"Let me guess," June says, bringing her hands together in front of her with an affectionate smile. "The less I know, the better it is for both of us."

Neal's smile is answer enough.

"But there are things," June continues, "that if you don't say, they will burst through your lips, and if that happens, all will go down to hell."

This time, Neal chuckles outright. "Something like that."

He lowers himself on the chair at the table, takes a breath, and he releases the one thing that he can admit to June.

"Sara has left me."

"Oh!"

It is clear that June hasn't been expecting this. "Oh, dear, I am so sorry to hear that." She closes the distance between them and perches on the seat across from him.

_This is what Neal loves and fears the most about June: even the most clichéd lines are renewed when June utters them; whatever she says, she is genuine. Her sincerity makes Neal's face burn with shame._

Neal ducks his chin into his chest, staring at his hands that he's folded in his lap. June takes it for his sorrow over the break-up.

"Whatever happened?" she asks kindly.

"She said we're very different people," Neal replies with a helpless shrug. "That we both knew it wouldn't last."

"Did you think that way?"

Neal slowly shakes his head. "I thought we could make it work, but… apparently it was too much for her."

_Frankly, it is too much for Neal, too; he doesn't blame Sara for leaving, for choosing to steer clear of this, and Neal wishes he could do the same. He nearly wishes Moz had never taken the Nazi plunder from the U-boat, that he had never let Neal know about it. But then he thinks of the treasure… God damn it, it's a treasure. Neal likes the artwork, he likes the jewelry, he likes the wealth. It's not easy to let go._

_Considering, he tries to reason, he hasn't done much wrong in the Burke's house –other than breaking in. It's not like he robbed them. He even petted the dog. Practically, all he did is to see himself into a friend's house. There's not much harm in that._

_But the way he lied to Mozzie…_

_It is a first. Neal has never lied to Mozzie like that. Mozzie has always been loyal to him, he has never let Neal down. He's let Neal in on his own final score when he could have easily taken the treasure and disappeared and Neal couldn't have faulted him for that. Mozzie is a true friend, and Neal has just lied to him through his teeth in a desperate attempt to get himself out of this mess, but taking down Mozzie's own dream and own chance with him._

_Neal loathes himself for it. There is no walking around this, this gut-wrenching feeling of having betrayed everyone all at once. It never, ever feels this way when he's out there, conning other people. The hypocrisy is burning his insides like acid._

He releases a breath and buries his head in his arms.

"There, there," June says, reaching across the table to pat his arm. "It won't do to make yourself sick."

"I'm fine," Neal says, immediately raising his head. He flashes her a reflective grins and waves a dismissive hand. "It's been a very long couple of days."

_He sits there with his trademark smile plastered on his face, the one that can mean anything or nothing at all, and all the while, he feels utterly stupid in a way that's very alien to Neal Caffrey the Notorious Conman. This woman sitting across from him can see right through that faked smile, but whatever dignity Neal has left is not easy to let go._

The look in June's eyes is still warm.

"Would it help if I said it will get easier?"

It takes a conscious effort for Neal to keep himself from shaking his head. Instead, he sighs, keeping his gaze on the dark surface of the table.

"Have you ever had to choose," he begins carefully, "between two equally important things?" He pauses. "Between two equally important people?"

June lifts and drops one shoulder as she sits back. "I have, indeed."

"How did you make it?"

June shifts slightly in her seat, as though discomforted by the question. Neal waits.

"I had to believe," June begins after a few moments of thought, "that the person I left behind would find it in himself to forgive me."

There is a faraway look in her eyes that Neal isn't used to seeing; she's staring unseeing into the void of darkness aside the two of them. There's resignation in her voice; she's saying, _'it is not ideal, it's not easy, but it is true.'_

Then, she looks up, and sighs.

"I lost touch with my brother when I chose to be with Byron," she explains. "He knew Byron wasn't exactly a prince on a white horse," her lips twitch, "but for me, he was. Samuel, that was my brother's name, he resented Byron when I choose to be with him. I knew I'd have regretted it for the rest of my life if I turned Byron down; the life he offered me… the love he gave me…"

She trails off, and Neal can almost see the cloud of memories, both happy and painful, of a life long gone, swirling around and absorbing her.

"How did that work out?" he asks softly, curiously. June looks up at him, eyes twinkling, and her lips curl up in a way that's almost mischievous.

"It turned out just fine," she declares. "Samuel was mad at me for years, I didn't see him for a long, long time. But in the end… we were siblings; I wanted my children to know their uncle, and he didn't refuse. We eventually walked back into each other's lives."

"But you didn't know that he would forgive you in the end." Neal's voice is bitter, disappointed.

"I didn't," June admits, shaking her head. "But I had to believe it." She leans in closer to Neal and holds his gaze.

"We have to make choices, Neal," she says, her voice quiet but strong. "But we also have to find ways to live with them. Whatever you decide to do… have faith in the people around you."

"Easier said than done." Neal actually blanches when he hears what he's said; he self-consciously sits back and clears his throat. "I didn't mean—"

"Neal, do not be this hard on yourself."

Neal frowns confusedly; there's a touch of something underneath the sudden worry in June's voice, something tender and fearful trembling in her eyes. She sighs, but doesn't avoid Neal's look.

"You have a good heart," she says, "it is but the goodness of your heart that tortures you like this. Do not think for one moment that what you want with your life is any less important than what other people want of you."

Neal blinks. "Good thing Peter's not around to hear that," he mutters stupidly. June's lips twitch for barely a moment before she takes a breath and bites her lip as though thinking she's said too much. She huffs through her nose and looks up again, determined.

"Just know that putting everyone else before you can be as harmful as putting yourself before everybody else."

She sits back, places her hands on her lap, and Neal observes how her fingers intertwine and curl inwards. He swallows, wondering if June has still been talking about him and Sara. Because she cannot know about the Nazi loot; about the impossible situation it has put Neal into. No; she's just trying to help.

It then occurs to Neal that in the two years he has known June, he's never asked her how Byron died.

For a while, neither of them speaks. Behind the Chrysler building, Neal can see the faintest tint of color signaling the sunrise. The night it still overwhelming the day, but soon, the light will increase, bringing color into the monochrome sky, and for those few minutes during sunrise, the view will be perfect.

_Day and night meet over the skies, dark and light fuse into each other._

_It's all about balance._

Neal looks up at June.

"Will you forgive me if... when I put myself before you?" His smile softens the solemnity of his look.

"Well," June replies with a little sigh, "as long as you don't forget to give me one last dance..."

_Here, before him sits a woman who asks nothing, nothing but one last dance in order to forgive him for any wrong he may do to her. June's heart is a precious gem that Neal can't quite grasp the nature of, like a mysterious jewel that is too breathtaking to be figured out, and Neal can't believe how lucky he is to have a friend like her. Whatever he does, he knows he will never be quite able to pay her back._

_With a painful throb he thinks of Sara, and realizes then that somehow, Byron had had it all._

Neal sighs and smiles at June, a real smile. "Thank you, June."

June nods, reaches out to give his hand a squeeze, and rises to her feet. She takes a step to retreat, but turns momentarily and holds up a warning finger.

"One dance," she reminds, only half-joking. Her eyes are shining.

"One dance," Neal promises. June smiles, turns, and leaves the balcony as silently and as perfectly as she's come.

_/_

_In his heart, Neal knows very well what he wants and how he can have it. But he's afraid to take the leap, to suddenly and completely leave behind who he's been all his life, to strip off from all the layers he's built around himself and stand all exposed. Neal Caffrey isn't ready to take his hat off just yet, hang out his numerous masks to dry and face the world with nothing but a sincere smile which shines and fades outside his will._

_Neal still doesn't know what to do about the situation at hand. He knows that it's not fair to keep the art manifest from Mozzie; the noble thing to do would be to give the photo of the list to Moz, and tell him that he won't be coming. It is the right thing to do if that's what Neal wants; if he really makes the decision to turn his back on what is probably the biggest art heist of the last half-century._

_He shakes his head. He doesn't have to make a decision just yet. He's promised to Moz that they'd talk 'tomorrow'; there's still a bit of time until then, and Neal heads back inside to catch a few hours of sleep. Sleep always helps when his thoughts are in a state of chaos._

_Feeling a little less at odds with himself, he slides under the covers and closes his eyes. Somehow, he knows that sooner or later, he will strike a balance. He will find a place to stand between the Neal Caffrey he's been all along, and the Neal Caffrey he wants to be. No, he doesn't know what he'll say to Moz when he sees him. But again, Neal's always been one to improvise._

_Minutes after his head touches the pillow, he is asleep._

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><p><em><strong>Auhtor's Notes:<strong> I feel a little better about this chapter than I've felt about the first; it's still not quite as solid and grounded as I'd have liked, but this has certainly been a challenge to get a grasp of the characters. I've found myself having to address several issues; the Nazi loot at the very center, and Neal's lying to Mozzie, breaking into the Burke's, the break-up with Sara, his relationship with June, and of course, all of this wrapped underneath the pressure he feels to make the big choice of what to do with the treasure. It got a little over my head, but I do hope I didn't leave many loose threads._

_Thank you for reading!_


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